


We Deserve a Better One

by volti



Category: Persona 5, Persona Series
Genre: Canon Compliant, Christmas, Christmas Fluff, College, Established Relationship, F/M, Persona 5 Spoilers, Post-Canon
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-25
Updated: 2018-12-25
Packaged: 2019-09-27 11:46:52
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,078
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17161424
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/volti/pseuds/volti
Summary: Christmas in college is better for a number of reasons. Sometimes those reasons involve not having to kill a false god. Sometimes they involve Makoto's boyfriend surprising her at her dorm.[Major Spoilers for December; proceed with caution!]





	We Deserve a Better One

**Author's Note:**

> Do you ever just... not celebrate a holiday and then write 4k+ about one of your OTPs celebrating that holiday, sort of? And catch a lot of feelings? Yeah, that's what happened here. I'm almost sorry?? Maybe???
> 
> Anyway welcome to fluff hell thanks in advance for them kudos/comments!!!

Things were much more quiet when they were closed. Surprisingly, that included student dormitories.

To be fair, Christmas wasn’t _technically_ a national holiday, so there was _technically_ no reason for classes to have ended early for winter vacation, but Makoto wasn’t about to complain. In fact, there were probably far more things to celebrate. The rooms around her were emptying out, students bumbling down the halls on her floor with suitcases and carry-on bags on all sizes. If she looked out the window, there was almost no one on the quad; everyone was ant-sized from several stories up, and they only made themselves known under the streetlights anyway.

All things considered, it was the perfect time to study. Or to read. It wasn’t as though she had anything else to do; she was already packed and ready to head home in the morning. And besides, if she didn’t keep up with her materials, she’d probably forget everything by the time early January rolled around, and there were hardly any excuses when a law degree was at stake. Even a bachelor’s. And Sae would be on her case about her studies anyway, even though she was nineteen and _sort of_ straddling that strange phrase of time between _still a teenager_ and _practically an adult,_ but if she got on her own case first, it would be nothing but pleasant surprise for her sister.

Or, maybe, not a surprise at all. Sae had said many things about good faith and confidence after her high school graduation ceremony. She’d been smiling then, too—took the day off of work and everything.

But maybe peace, and smiles, and taking time away, were just some of the perks of becoming a public defender after the rigidity of prosecution. Or the inaction of humanity.

There were two things Makoto enjoyed about her dorm room: the first, that she had no one to share it with, and the second, that she could make it entirely her own. It was a home away from home, when at the onset she hadn’t expected it to be. That was probably because of all the movies she watched, foreign or otherwise—or rather, the movies she sat through with Akira, who loved them infinitely more than she did—that made college seem like a place for parties, for people you were destined _not_ to get along with, and for classes so early and so dull that you would need an IV drip of black coffee to make it past 9:45.

But it wasn’t so bad, really. She went to class, she took her notes, she visited one of the libraries or the on-campus gym or one of the botanical gardens (and took plenty of pictures for Haru). Diligent as ever. Just as anyone would expect of her or any other first-year in university. 

It was just that she allowed herself little liberties, things she never held herself to—or always held herself against—just several months ago. Sometimes she sat on her bed and watched TV online, through a streaming subscription service, on her laptop. Sometimes she indulged herself in a cup of tea and a cupcake at her desk. She hung up a tapestry with Japanese calligraphy, a graduation gift from Yusuke, on the wall behind her bed, and a crown of string lights just on top of it, a splash of color in an otherwise pristine, minimalist space. Sure, she still color-coded her notes and stayed up longer than she needed to reviewing them all, but she had colorful sheets and bedspreads too, and a variety of books on her shelves (as much as it killed her to leave so many of them at home). And more than that, she had the pleasant tradition of calling Akira on Friday nights.

She missed him. Always missed him. But seeing him live his life for a couple of hours on her laptop screen was better than not seeing him at all. Especially when he told her once at one in the morning, when two hours had turned into five, that she was a reprieve for him, too.

Really, he’d said, “I’m just really glad that I know you love me when sometimes it feels like nobody here does,” which was both extreme and not for someone who was probably drunk on his own sleepiness. But she took it to heart all the same.

Did he have plans for his break? Would he be in town again? Or would he be stuck in the countryside still, in a place he said he never really got used to again?

Makoto didn’t have the time to think too much about that. She still had some last-minute studying to do, just to keep her mind fresh, and a final check of everything she’d packed. Sae would be picking her up in the morning, and neither of them liked to wait when home was waiting for them.

She ran through the items in her mind, checked them against the list in her phone notes for good measure. The basic electronics—her computer, her phone, and their chargers—would go in a carry-on bag first thing tomorrow. She was still using them; she could keep them out a while longer. She had enough clothes to last her a couple of weeks, right down to the underwear, and her toiletries were tucked away in plastic zip-close bags.

(Okay, so she’d splurged a little more on those things once classes had started. But school was stressful, and she was mature, and above all else _frugal,_ and she could afford to take care of her mind as much as she strove to take care of her body. And besides, some of those bath bombs had _glitter_ in them, and something in her just couldn’t pass up _glitter._ Part of her—most of her—blamed Ann for that.)

What else was she forgetting?

A knock at the door pulled her from her thoughts, and she stood up straight in the middle of the room. Maybe it was one of the security guards from downstairs, checking to see who was still in the building. Or maybe it was an inspector wondering whether she would be going home for the holiday. She wasn’t answering any questions by not opening the door. She crossed the room, slipped into the tiny hall between her living space and the door to the outside world, and undid the lock and the latch in seconds.

“How can I—?”

It was the most she could say then, when Akira was standing there, leaning against the doorway with his hand in his coat pocket, an overnight bag hanging from the crook of his arm, and a well-meaning smile on his face. “Boyfriend: check,” was all he said. He’d taken to saying that by way of greeting now, ever since he’d surprised her with a visit to help her move into the dorm.

“You—” Makoto didn’t know how many times she tried to restart that sentence. “You’re here? You—but I thought—”

“Assumed,” Akira corrected. “You never asked if I was coming back for break. And the answer is yes, in case that wasn’t obvious.”

“But I…” Confused, Makoto looked past him, down either end of the doorway, and then behind her into her room. “Sis is picking me up in the morning.” It was a blunt statement, obvious to her and somewhere between a non sequitur and not, but her face heated up anyway.

Akira’s smile widened, just a touch. Just enough for her to turn a little more scarlet. “No, she isn’t.”

———

It took a lot for Sae to be convinced of almost anything, but somehow Akira had done it. He told Makoto everything once he’d showered and changed into pajamas, although “everything” mostly comprised a couple of text messages calling in a favor he’d been sitting on ever since he turned himself in and gave his testimony the year before. And, apparently, doing Sae one in exchange, with the promise that Sojiro would be monitoring his driving. Still, he said it all with a knowing spark in his eyes and at a respectful distance, straddling her desk chair and resting his chin on folded arms. He looked sweet like that, like he wanted to be closer but knew both of their limits within the first hour or so of being alone together.

To say it was one of the reasons she loved him so much was probably an understatement, and yet undermined all the others.

“I’m surprised she’s letting you stay the night,” Makoto said. It wasn’t as though he hadn’t before, but neither of them had spoken of it to many people—least of all, her sister. What was the point? No one else needed to know if he was only staying the very occasional Saturday night into Sunday, and especially if they weren’t disturbing any peace. It was flustering enough whenever it happened; if word got out beyond the passing exchanges in their tight-knit circle, it might as well be the end of her.

Akira shrugged with one shoulder. “What she doesn’t know.”

Aha. “Still upholding tradition, I see.”

He hummed in thought, and then nodded toward the overnight bag at the foot of her bed. “I brought you something,” he said.

“A gift?”

“Mmhmm.” Slowly, he got up and knelt in front of the bag, and Makoto felt bold enough to scoot back against her pillows and pat the slightly wrinkled empty space in front of her. The hour wasn’t quite up yet, but she’d gotten used to him in her space, her home, that she could let herself decide where and when he could step in. When he resurfaced and sat across from her, legs folded in and knees bumping hers, he was holding a small, long box in each hand. They shimmered with deep blue wrapping paper and stick-on bows on top, and didn’t give much of themselves away when Makoto tried to shake either of them.

“What are they?” she asked.

Akira gave her another one-shoulder shrug, but this time a knowing smile flitted across his lips, damp hair in his eyes and all. She’d probably never get used to seeing him without those thick-rimmed glasses. “Open them and find out, why don’t you.”

The only thing that broke the silence of the floor was the way she peeled the wrapping paper back and folded it into a flat square beside her, winced whenever it tore by accident and tried her utmost to rid it of leftover Scotch tape. The first was simple enough: a reed diffuser that she could keep on her desk. Probably an alternative, since she’d once mentioned offhand that scented candles were prohibited in the dorms. But even unwrapped, the second gift hid in a nondescript white box. She popped it open, and let a pencil case slide into her lap—clean black and white, felt flaps for ears at one end.

Makoto looked up. “This is…”

“Yeah.” Akira had always looked sort of lanky, but he especially looked that way now, stretched out and half leaning on the windowsill with his chin in his hand. “The same one. I know your dad bought you the one you have now, and that it means a lot to you, but… you mentioned it was wearing down, after all these years. So you can still keep it, without wearing holes in it.” He rubbed the back of his neck. “It’s pretty rare to find that one nowadays… I looked everywhere for it, and even then—”

“Thank you,” she murmured. It took everything in her for her eyes not to swim with tears, and even then she shut them and cradled the case close.

“Hey now, don’t cry,” he said, and then his thumb was at her cheek, brushing away the tears that clung to her lashes. “If I’d know you were going to cry, I’d have gotten you something else. A necklace or something.”

“No,” she told him. “I love _this._ ”

There was a laugh in Akira’s voice. “More than you love me, huh?”

“That’s not what I—!”

He pressed his lips to her forehead, and she quieted instantly, still holding the case, fuzzy against her fingers. She… she’d change out her pencils tomorrow. When she got home and could put away the old for safekeeping, start a different journey with the new. Most other thought died away once he pulled back, still holding her cheek, except for the _thank you_ that spilled from her lips before anything else could.

“I have something for you, too,” she said. Managed to say, more like. She was still hazy from the kiss, and partly frustrated that he hadn’t dipped his head a little lower.

Akira’s smile was curious now, even so close. “Oh?”

“I…” Now she was getting out of bed, moving toward her carry-on. “I was going to wait to mail it to you in a couple of days, because I wasn’t sure when I’d get to see you again, but I suppose now would be the best time, right? Besides…” She didn’t wait for Akira to answer, rummaging through the bag until she pulled out a wrapped gift of her own. “I still haven’t been able to figure out how to pack and deliver it.”

“I don’t know if I should be curious or worried.”

“I would hope the former is the lesser of two evils.”

“They’re not _evil,_ ” Akira insisted, even as Makoto laid the gift in his upturned hands, held his face and pressed a soft peck to his lips to quiet him. It was the first they’d shared that night, and he had a dopey smile on his face, one to counter the heat that stained her cheeks as she took her seat on the bed again. It had none of the urgency they’d learned to grow into when they had the chance to be alone together, and all of the comfort of a couple who’d been together for a little over a year, and Akira still hummed like he was hoping she’d give him a second. And more than a second. 

It took another flustered nudge from her before he split the wrapping paper open with a little less care, pulled out a glass jar and turned it this way and that. It was stuffed to the brim with brightly colored paper, folded into cranes of all sizes. The string lights glinted off the edges of it, and Akira’s expression swayed more curious than worried as he peered inside, popped the jar open and carefully plucked out a floral-printed one.

“How many are there?” he asked.

Makoto shifted in her place, hands jammed in her lap. “A thousand.”

His eyes widened, but only just, and he placed the crane back and fitted the lid on again. “Really,” he breathed, barely audible. “It must’ve taken you forever. And I didn’t think…”

“I had a schedule,” she mumbled sheepishly. “You didn’t think what?”

“I didn’t think you were the type of person to rely on wishes over logic.”

“I suppose I’m full of surprises.” She moved a little closer, so their knees were touching again. “And the occasional exception.”

Akira smiled like he knew he was one of them, and set the jar on the windowsill beside him. He was still stealing glances at it every so often, even as he asked, “What did you wish for?”

Makoto couldn’t help a smile of her own. “I don’t know if I’m allowed to tell you that.”

“What if I asked you really nicely?”

“The rules are still the rules, aren’t they?”

“Weren’t you the one just talking about exceptions and logic?” he asked, and then, after coaxing her into his lap with his arms locked around her waist, “No further questions.”

They always worked like this, in increments. Sitting apart became sitting closer together. Bumped knees turned into laced fingers. A good-natured argument—which Akira called _lovers’ bickering_ and Makoto called _practice_ —was whittled down into silence and the primal comfort of her body pressed to his, her ear nestled right where she could hear his heartbeat. Even as he reached behind him, leaned back on his hand, and turned out the lap so that the string lights, flickering like icicles, were all they had to go on. It was all they needed to go on, really, and Akira didn’t stop leaning, until he was flush against the bed and she had rolled off of him, curled up at his side. She’d lost count of just how many times they’d shared sleeping space together, because it was dizzying, every time, to be so conscious of how he felt next to her, that he was there at all, that one little misinterpretation…

However many times it had been, her blood was still pounding far too loud and fast for her own good, and the pit of her stomach felt far too warm, and she couldn’t help squirming there for a second or two. It took Akira pulling her closer, back to the sound of his heart, for her body to still. And she was stiff as a board, but her mind still ran the ticker tape that he was here, he was resting next to her, he was this close to her—

“I already like this better than last year,” he murmured.

Thought stopped.

Makoto shifted onto her side and propped herself up on her elbow. Akira was looking up at the ceiling, arms folded behind his head, little lights dancing in his eyes. This close, his lashes seemed so long he could probably see them himself, and she could pick out the tiniest blemishes and the disheartened purse of his lips. He was thinking, too hard, she could tell, and maybe these were the things he saw in her, too, any time he was here. 

“The Holy Grail?” she said, and she felt Akira’s breath catch in his throat more than she heard it.

“Everything,” he whispered. He didn’t look anywhere else but up, but one of his arms slipped underneath her, nudged her closer. She was half-leaning on him now, and had to plant a hand on his other side. “The Holy Grail. The Velvet Room. Yaldabaoth. The testimony.” Every word he spoke only gave life to the things she knew they were all trying to forget, but couldn’t, because perhaps even thinking of it could bring it all back. Everything from a year ago only taught them that the conscious worked in ways they could never fully understand.

“Were you upset that I looked for you last?” he asked. “In the Velvet Room.”

Makoto shook her head. If she had the strength—or the constitution, more like—to reach up and touch his face, she would have before either of them could blink. “Why did you?”

“Because I… Because… I don’t know.” A heavy sigh had him sinking further into the bed. “I wanted to go to you first, but I was afraid you wouldn’t be there. And if you weren’t there, after seeing you—disappear like that, then…”

She tensed, and twisted her fingers in the sheets. 

Akira finally looked to her, and pressed his hand to the small of her back to soothe her. Remind her that he _was_ here. Even dared to slip his hand under the back of her pajama top, and kept it there with a faint smile when she shuddered. “Seeing you inflicted by lust at the hands of a false god, though,” he added. “Not… exactly what I was expecting.”

Makoto turned red, scrambled for words, and eventually decided on burying her face in the crook of his neck with a whine.

He laughed, let her tangle their legs together and rest half on top of him still, and told her not to worry about it, reassured her yet again that she hadn’t done anything incriminating during that battle. He smelled like spices, and he was solid under her weight, and his hand inched just a bit higher, enough for his fingers to dance along the dip in her back. Enough for her to cling to him in return, seek out the comfort of him even as the words simmered in the back of her mind. 

“You know what else makes this better than last year?” he asked.

Her voice cracked, laced with fatigue. “What’s that?”

Akira didn’t say anything at first, only nudged her up so that she was hovering above him. He was smiling, like it had never left him in the first place. And then his other hand joined the first, and he kissed her fully—not too urgent, not too monotonous. He tasted overwhelmingly like toothpaste, and he hummed into her mouth and pulled her just a little closer, and she felt dizzy again when she resurfaced. The good kind of dizzy that brought her slowly back to herself, let her remember he was glittering under the decor of her room and that, somewhere along the way, her fingers had wound their way into his hair.

His hands were at her stomach now, cautious and not pushing her away, and with almost every word he spoke his lips brushed against hers, like he might die if he didn’t get to kiss her again. “I don’t have to hide anything from you anymore, and you don’t have to go anywhere,” he said, “and I think that’s the best part.”

———

Sojiro made himself known first with a honk or two outside of the student dormitory building, and then with a buzz to Akira’s phone, which nearly fell off the nightstand table. It wasn’t that he’d had woken Makoto up; she’d been plenty awake, nestled into Akira’s side for warmth. It was, simply put, that she didn’t want to get out of bed in the first place, because getting out of bed meant facing the cold and packing up the rest of her things and—perhaps most important of all—leaving Akira’s embrace.

Akira took a few more moments before he stirred beside her, and the first thing he did was pull her closer, like he was making the decision that neither of them should get out of bed for at least a few more minutes. Maybe even ten. But the third honk bled through the windowpanes, and he groaned and slithered out of bed, but not after planting a thread of three kisses onto her lips. They didn’t last long, and they didn’t taste like toothpaste, but they were the kind of perfect that made Makoto think she could get used to receiving them for a long, long time.

“You’re here,” she mumbled, still lying down but at least attempting to rub the leftover sleep from her eyes. “You’re still here.”

“Yeah,” Akira said, and bent down to grace her with a fourth, sweeter and longer than all the others. “I am.”

They busied themselves with different things: a _we’ll be right down_ text message, tidying up the room, changing into decent clothes, last-minute packing and final checklists, the thought that maybe they would stop for breakfast along the way, or that Sojiro would be gracious enough to prepare something for them at Leblanc. He was already doing them a favor by coming at all, and secondly by letting Akira practice his driving on the way back. Even invited Sae to spend the morning or afternoon in the shop for a gathering, but Makoto guessed (and rightly so) that she’d be busy with some case or another. The law—even public defense—didn’t sleep.

Still, as he was sliding out of the driver’s seat and helping Makoto pack her things into the trunk, careful not to wake a sleeping Futaba, he muttered, “I don’t want to know.”

Makoto stammered, and Akira wrinkled his nose. “There’s nothing to know,” he insisted.

Sojiro shrugged airily, and settled in the back. “Whatever you say, kiddo.” He met eyes with Makoto, nodded toward the passenger seat. “Go on. Sit next to him. He’s pretty decent behind the wheel.”

“That’s not what I’m worried about,” she murmured, but sat there all the same and clicked her seatbelt into place, patted down her pockets and mouthed the names of her most vital possessions for a _last_ last-minute check.

Somewhere along the highway, Akira let go of the wheel to slip his hand under hers and let her squeeze it. That was confirmation enough that she did. She really did have everything.

**Author's Note:**

> I have a [Twitter](www.twitter.com/omnistruck) and a [Tumblr](http://voltisubito.tumblr.com); feel free to follow me there!!


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